“Interestingly enough, all the surrealists were handsome, a fact Dali once pointed out to me. There was the leonine luminosity of Breton and the more refined beauty of Aragon, Eluard, Crevel, and Dali himself. There was Max Ernst with his startling birdlike face and his blue eyes, and Pierre Unik, and all the others – a proud, ardent, and unforgettable group.”
I’m constanly fighting the urge to read more biographies and less theory. It’s just that Surrealist biographies are endlessly entertaining…
Look, for example, at Luis Buñuel’s hilarious comments on making Un Chien Andalou in his autobiography My Last Breath:
When the script was finished, I realized that we had such an original and provocative movie that no ordinary production company would touch it. So once again, I found myself asking my mother for backing, which, thanks to our sympathetic attorney, she consented to provide. I wound up taking the money back to Paris and spending half of it in my usual nightclubs.
The filming took two weeks; there were only five or six of us involved, and most of the time no one quite knew what he was doing.
Dali arrived on the set a few days before the end and spent most of his time pouring wax into the eyes of stuffed donkeys.
At the opening, I was a nervous wreck. In fact, I hid behind the screen with the record player, alternating Argentinian tangos with Tristan and Isolde. Before the show, I’d put some stones in my pocket to throw at the audience in case of disaster […]. After the film ended, I listened to the prolonged applause and dropped my projectiles discreetly, one by one, on the floor behind the screen.